


Sugar Horse

by KoreArabin



Category: Spooks | MI-5, Strike Back
Genre: Anal Fingering, Breath Control, Dildos, Dubious Consent, Hoods, M/M, Nooses, Reference to Spooks, Restraints, Rimming, Torture, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Big, strong, brave soldiers like you always like cock once I have finished with them.  And I like it when they beg for it.  So, shall we see, little soldier boy?  If you can also be made to beg for cock?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Horse

**Author's Note:**

> If any of the Tags make you squeamish, please check out the End Notes before reading. Thanks!

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't answer that question!"

The material is pressed down on his face, again, then the water flows - the constant, suffocating, _terrifying_ flow of water. Then, light, choking and spluttering and coughing up the water, and blessed air. Christ.

"What is your mission?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't answer that question!"

How long can you endure this, John? The feeling of suffocation, of drowning, of nothing else. Helpless. Falling, _dying_.

"By what means do the British plan to rescue the hostage?" 

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't answer that question!"

oOo

He doesn't know how long it's been since the last round of waterboarding; as soon as he'd managed to just about regain his breath, he'd been hooded. At first he had thought that the waterboarding was going to continue, but now it appears that there's a longer game being played, a game of _leave the prisoner alone to succumb to the terrors his imagination might dream up about what's going to happen next_.

Huh. They don't know John Porter. He can suffer physically just as much as the next man, but mentally? He's strong. Solid. He couldn't still be doing this if he wasn't. No, he'll welcome the respite from torture, and the opportunity to calm and rest himself, try to gather his strength and think of a way out of this situation. 

Footsteps, their echo muffled by the hood. Then, hands on his ankles. His wrists are still locked tightly in the small of his back, but his ankles are being uncuffed, and he's being turned over. He kicks out, blindly, trying to hit soft flesh, but no dice. What sounds and then _feels_ like a whip whistles down, striking him hard across his lower back and his hands, and he can't stifle his shout of pain as it bites into the sensitive skin of his palms.

Whilst he's accommodating the pain, there's enough time for his ankles to be cuffed once again to the bed frame, and a noose, rough and tight, secured around his neck.

"Lie still."

The voice is very quiet, somewhere over to his left, and the order immediately makes him want to resist, so he's struggling hard against his restraints until he feels it: a knife blade, sharp and cold, against the small of his back, and he freezes.

"Better."

He lies still, tense and breathing deeply inside the sweltering hood. The tip of the knife scratches lightly down his back to where his bare skin meets the material of his jeans. A slight pause, and then it's slicing through the back of his trousers, tearing through leather belt and tough denim like butter, shredding them with his boxers, cutting down through the clothing until it's stripped away and he's naked from the waist down. What the fuck?

The thin mattress on the metal bedstead flexes and there's warmth and weight as someone settles themselves over his thighs. The halter around his neck is tightened, and his head pulled up violently. 

The quiet voice is there again, much nearer now, beside his ear. "Do you like cock, brave little soldier?"

John doesn't understand. What is this? A new line of questioning?

"Do you like cock? In your arse, brave little soldier?"

"Wha-at? I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand the question!"

There is a quiet chuckle. The voice is soft now, mocking.

"Ah. You say not, but big, strong, brave soldiers like you always like cock once I have finished with them. And I like it when they beg for it. So, shall we see, little soldier boy? If you can also be made to beg for cock?"

oOo

There are hands at his halter and then hands at his hips and he's being pulled up, some sort of bolster or thick cushion being pushed under his hips, and he's arranged with his face mashed into the thin mattress of the metal bedstead and his legs bent, his arse up in the air. 

"How pretty you look, little soldier boy, laid out so invitingly for me." 

He gasps and jerks in shock as he feels it, the softest breath just teasing over his ball sack then up along his crease, and back down again, warm and damp, then the faintest brush of fingertips tracing the vein on the underside of his cock. He twists again, trying to shift his upper body, but is stilled when he feels the knife's tip scratching up the inside of his thigh.

"No. Be a good boy and keep still. I would not want to have to cut these wonderfully heavy balls, or mar this deliciously thick cock. So you be a good little boy, yes, and we'll see if we can make you beg." 

Then the breath is back again on his backside, followed by the lightest, feathered strokes of the very tip of a tongue, hot and wet, around the rim of his arsehole. John groans, wanting to struggle away from the teasing licking, but the tip of the knife is still pressing against the crease of his thigh and, as brave as he is, he's not prepared to become a eunuch, not even for Queen and country.

The intensity of the licking increases, louder and wetter, all around his rim, and then there are warm hands on his buttocks, spreading them, the tongue at last lapping at the tight pucker of his sensitive entrance. Warm saliva trickles down between his cheeks, wetting his balls and cock and dripping down on to the mattress. He groans again, feeling himself harden despite the situation, balling his fists and digging his nails into his welted palms. Anything to distract himself from how fucking good this feels.

But the distraction doesn't work. "Ah. So the brave little soldier boy enjoys having his hole licked? This is going to be easier than I thought, soldier boy. It's not a question now of _if_ you'll beg, but just _when_."

Then there are thumbs probing deeper between his buttocks, and he can feel his hole stutter as the tight muscle is pulled open slightly. And then the tongue is there again, pushing insistently into him, and there's more saliva trickling down his crease, and he's so humiliated that his cock is now ramrod stiff, as the wetness drips down out of his hole and between his legs.

Warm lips are now sealed around his hole and that tongue is opening him up even wider, invading his most private place, where even his closest lovers have very rarely been allowed. But there's no question of _allowing_ here; he's simply being taken; taken apart increment by increment and, whilst his conscious mind wants to fight and escape, his rebellious body is literally lapping up the humiliation.

Only when he's panting so hard inside the hood that he's on the edge of hyperventilating does the wet licking and probing cease. He takes a shaky breath to steady himself, but the respite is short-lived. Something wet and slick, yet viscous, is lathered over his sopping hole, and something more substantial than a tongue pushes into him. He moans and twists, his arse pretty relaxed and loose after the rimming, but still determined to fight having anything else stuffed up there. The weight on his thighs shifts and then there is a solid body leaning right over him, pinning his cuffed wrists under its weight, and the noose around his neck is tightened again, his head pulled up and back and his air cut off.

"No!" His voice sounds hoarse and faraway.

"Then lie still, pretty soldier boy, and enjoy yourself."

When the halter is released, two fingers are pushed up hard to the knuckle into him, twisting and scissoring and stretching. It's too much, yet there's little he can do, as his assailant still has hold of the noose rope, and just twitches it every so often to remind him that his breath can be taken away at any moment. John grunts and twists when a third finger breaches him, and then a fourth, and he feels too full, he's not used to being fucked - well - not like this, anyway, and it's difficult to accommodate so much so quickly. But there's also the squelch of more lube, which helps, and then the fingers inside him start to move in lazy circles, searching for that spot which he knows will make him see stars.

His assailant just laughs out loud when he finds it, John's reaction is so very obvious. He groans and bucks his hips, unable to prevent himself pushing back on to the teasing fingers, his body helplessly responding and wanting, greedy for pleasure after all the bloody pain he's been put through. His moan at the feeling of emptiness, of _disappointment_ , when the fingers withdraw is too humiliating. Fucking bastard.

"So eager, my pretty little soldier boy. But, do not fret; I have something much more - satisfying - for you."

There's the squelch of yet more lube being slathered over and into his arsehole, then his assailant speaks again. "Perhaps I was a little - disingenuous - when I mentioned _cock_ earlier. We know that all of you big, strong, brave soldiers simply _adore_ being filled with thick _man_ cock, but I have something a little different in mind.

Have you ever taken _horse_ cock, pretty soldier boy? No? Well, then you shall try it; here I have a wonderfully realistic replica to fuck you with. So much more _filling_. So much more _satisfying_. You'll never look again at pretty soldier cock once you've taken horse cock." 

John begins to fight, but any struggling on his part is met immediately with a tightening of the noose around his neck. Panting, concentrating on his breath, the sudden nudge at his loose, soaking, hole takes him by surprise. Then, there is pressure and there is pain and he feels as if he is being split in two, the thick rubber cock forced into him at first without allowing him time to adjust or accommodate. 

However, once the tip is inside him, his assailant slows the penetration, and works the cock in and out carefully. John still feels as if his hole is being torn open, and his insides stuffed to bursting, but the slow rhythm gradually allows him to relax and take it deeper and harder until, suddenly, it's pressing again at _that_ spot, and John's grunting and moaning and bucking, and trying to press himself further on to the cock.

His assailant immediately pulls the cock out slightly and stops moving it. John pants hard between his clenched teeth, wanting so desperately to just be stimulated again on that one spot, and _orgasm_ , and God, then they can go back to whatever they're going to do to him, but - just - first, let him _come_.

The cock is pressed in again, and again, every thrust provoking a moan from the bound man sweating and writhing helplessly on the bed.

"Do you want it, pretty soldier? Yes? If so, you know what you must do."

"No-o! Never - I won't, no-o!"

"Ah, well, that's a pity. For you. So, I shall just leave you here, restrained, helpless; unable to relieve yourself, and then we shall return later to not so pleasant games, yes?"

The cock is pulled out far enough that John cannot move himself on it in any way to achieve release, but it is still deep enough for him to remain feeling stuffed full far beyond anything he has ever experienced.

The bed moves and the weight on his thighs is gone, and the footsteps begin to recede

"No! No. Don't leave me."

"Yes, pretty soldier?"

John does not recall ever weeping when on active service, but the tears are welling up now; tears of desperation, of fear, of pain, but most of all in an agony of longing, for release, for some small moment of pleasure; for, perhaps, the last orgasm he will ever experience.

"Please. Please."

"Not good enough. Be more specific."

"Please - fuck me. Make me come. Please."

"Yes?"

"With - the cock. With - the _horse_ cock."

The last sentence is choked out with a sob, but his assailant does not hesitate. The thick rubber cock is again pressing up inside him, hitting his prostate again and again, fucking him, _stuffing_ him more thoroughly than he has ever been fucked before in his life. When he feels the warm fist closing tightly around his straining cock, he cries out, loud, two or three quick pumps all that it needs before he is crying out again, spilling over the bolster beneath his hips, shouting his release as he climaxes, moaning and jerking and twitching through the after shocks until he is totally exhausted and unable to move.

oOo

When he comes to, it is his own voice he hears, murmuring over and over again. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

"God's not going to be a lot of help to you now, baby, but I'll lend you a hand."

The hood and noose are removed, and John finds himself looking into the bright blue eyes of his lover. 

"Not too much? Not too much of the water first?"

"No, Bastian, no. Oh. Just - right. Just - just - oh God - what I needed. Thank you."

He's uncuffed and de-cocked and rubbed over with a warm cloth, and allows Sebastian to support (half carry) him through to their bedroom where, sod the shower or a bath, he's tucked up under the warm duvet and held tight in Bastian's arms.

"Baby, I never once thought of any of that being something I could cope with, with _us_ , I mean. But, somehow, with you, it all comes together and goes away. Do you understand what I mean?"

Sebastian yawns. "Yes, I think so, but c'mon babes, you need to rest. Catharsis and all that's great, but you've taken a lot today and I want you to get some sleep."

"Okay, Bastian." He snuggles up to his lover, warm and, at last in his life, feeling totally safe.

And even the vaguely murmured _Sugar Horse_ as Sebastian drifts off to sleep cannot change that.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not in any real life universe imagine that anyone would get turned on by being waterboarded. This is pure fantasy fiction, based on fictional characters and what might float their [fictional] boats.
> 
> I deleted the previous version of Sugar Horse, as I was really not happy with it at all. I find dubcon really difficult to write.
> 
> So this is a revised version, if you're wondering where the previous one went.
> 
> Simply because Richard Armitage has the most gorgeous, delectable, arse and, being the sick puppy I am, I needed it to be violated.
> 
> Oh, and surprise!Sebby here too, just for fun!


End file.
